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Slow Burning (PG-13) Print

Written by brie

03 November 2008 | 831 words

Title: Slow Burning
Pairing: Arwen/Faramir
Type: Romance/Drama/Tragedy
Rating: PG-13
Sypnosis: After the redeemed King Aragorn of Gondor is called to the south to answer the war call of the Haradrim, Arwen is left behind in the care of the quiet, vague Captain of the Guard, Faramir. But as Arwen slowly begins to find herself desperate for comfort, and Faramir falls deeply under the Elf queen’s woven spell, the two discover there is more to their feigned platonic relationship than stolen glances and secret desires.
Starring: Liv Tyler as Arwen, David Wenham as Faramir and Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn.


Shadows, like so many dark, creeping whispers, began to swirl about her naked feet, skirts billowing with the rhythm of the quiet, dancing wind. The city of Minas Tirith was all alight with fervent flame, crumbling beneath the weight of their irrevocable sorrows, their soldiers beaten down one by one by bloodthirsty, rampaging men of the West.

Blood was spilt like water, spilling down the courtyard in trickles, sometimes heightening in rage and cascading through the cracked stone. Bodies went flaccid as they fell, so many sacrificed by their own sheer will to protect their dying city – one moment of martyrdom would seal their doomed fate, another pale, drained face to litter the walls and foundations of the once regal city of Gondor.

He was searching for her.

Sifting through the terrible screams for mercy, the heedless prayers for their savior.

Weeding through the widened eyes, so filled to the brim with fear that he was certain those round, white orbs alive with terror would melt into the glistening, dirty flesh of their gaunt faces.

But she was nowhere to be found, the silent beauty who swept the corridors with her quiet, gentle steps, seemed eternally lost in the realms of the encroaching shadows. Where was she, where were those forget-me-not eyes which shone like precious gemstones in the prancing firelight, milk-white skin glowing within the rays of the melancholy moon. He needed so desperately to see them again, but where, amongst the perpetual cries and swarms of death that surrounded him so, was she?

She was searching for him.

But he wasn’t coming back. There were no paths for a mere mortal, no matter how strong, no matter how wise or honorable he may be, to take from the roads embraced by shadow. There were no walls which his mighty strength would fall that would submit to his iron will.

She couldn’t let go. She would never give in. always waiting, always secretly awaiting the moment he would awake from the darkness and return to her, to take the heart that was his, but now was torn in two. Would she ever recover?

There, bathed in placid moonlight, by the whitewashed stone balcony fashioned by her long lost love himself. And there, her heart would wait, silent, patient as the beginning of time itself. Something glimmered and flashed pure white as it swayed in her hand, a fragment of stardust fashioned into that of a winding jewel, dangling from a chain, which had hung gallantly around his neck.

Through many battles, through many toils and hardships he had faced, her heart has always been there, urging him forward, calling him home, where he belonged, safely tucked away from the cruel, shadowed world in her arms, sung to sleep by a tune as lulling and profound as her love for him. Her ancient soul would reach out to him, cradle him in the gossamer folds of her being, until he was soothed again, the man she knew and loved so dearly.

But he was gone.

“Arwen,” he reached for her, desperate to find her, the woman lost amongst her decimating sorrows. “My lady, he has fallen. Any hope that there was for his return was long lost, with the setting of the sun. I am sorry, Arwen. He is departed from us. You must flee for safety, if not your own sake, then for his.”

His breath was thin and ragged, like the hasty ripples of a shallow pool. Her eyes, clouded with the mist of fine tears, drifted dreamily from the horizon, drenched and tarnished with scarlet hue. A tear, hanging by its last thread upon her thick, lovely lashes, began to droop as she blinked softly, her deep, ruby lips quivering with despair.

“He will come, Faramir,” she said, her voice gentle and low. She closed her eyes, allowing the Captain to gather her into his arms, like a precious doll which he prized so dearly. “My Faramir.” She murmured into his armor, and the still, tranquil breath with emitted from parted lips drenched his skin in trembles.

So close, she was…so very close.

She took his hand, and placed into the callused, brusque skin her own, but no sooner did his fingers envelop hers, she let go, until only one thing remained.

He opened his hand, and there it was…

The hollow drums beat outside the bolted door.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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2 Comment(s)

Haunting. This is beautiful: thank you so much!

— Lasselanta    Saturday 13 December 2008, 4:24    #

Wow. I have no words. The last sentence was beautiful. Thank you!

— Eldalie    Monday 15 March 2010, 0:06    #

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